


Peter's 2015

by flyingonthewind



Category: Lovely Little Losers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friendship, M/M, dealing with mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingonthewind/pseuds/flyingonthewind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wellington was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to be the person he wanted to be. But, as Peter discovers, old ghost don’t go away, and sometimes you have to face your problems by looking in the mirror. – A reimagined 2015 where Ben does not go to Wellington with Peter and Balth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi.  
> So, this story is 6 chapters long and mostly written, so I will try to update every other day or so. I really hope you will enjoy it, even if it deals with some heavier issues. Please feel free to let me know what you think, either here or on [Tumblr](ing-on-the-wind.tumblr.com).

# Chapter 1

On the night before graduation they had all met up at Hero’s house again. It hadn’t been a party per se, more of a hanging out together, drinking beers and cheap wine while trying not to wallow to badly about the end of an era. Peter had spent most of the night, a beer in hand, sitting in one of the chairs, not talking to Balthazar. After their interrupted almost moment, the courage had left him, and now he had to pay for that by watching they guy he, well, _really_ liked wrapped around some other sunny-faced little kid. Okay, so maybe Damien was the one attempting to do the wrapping, and maybe Balth wasn’t exactly encouraging it. Peter didn’t really care though, as he sipped his by now lukewarm beer. He had tried to tell himself he just wanted Balthy to be happy, but what was the point when he wanted Balthazar to be happy with him? But he blew that up, just like he had blown a ton of stuff over the last few months. So yeah, he hadn’t been in the best of mindsets at that particular get-together. He still believed everyone, though, when they said that just because high school was over, it didn’t mean they’d all split up and never talk again.

Yet here he was, two months later, in Wellington, standing in a flat he was sharing with two strangers, and no idea what anyone else was doing. It was partially his own fault, he knew, that he had lost touch.

Over the summer he had somehow managed to slip into a deep hole. – A hole he now didn’t know how to get out of. He had stopped talking to anyone, had somehow convinced himself that he was much happier staying home and reading in his room or messing around on the computer, or helping his mum with the cleaning of the house. He didn’t need people, and anyway, he sort of got this sick feeling whenever he saw the guarded look lingering in Beatrice’s eyes or the tired smile on Hero’s face. 0Balthazar dating Damien brought a whole other kind of sick feeling. So yeah, he may have shied away from his friends for a while there. Wasn’t that the whole point of coming to Wellington, though? A fresh start. New friends. Friends he could finally be himself with, truly and entirely. No more ‘good guy Pedro’. Just Peter. The real Peter, the one who was bisexual and unafraid.

The first month of Uni was a shock to the system. Back in Messina school had always been easy. He didn’t have to work for good grades, all he had had to do was smile and act like he had everything under control. His parents had always smiled at him, proudly, telling him of the glorious future he held as a lawyer or a doctor or something similarly well-paid. In Wellington things were different. Everywhere Peter looked, there were clever people – most of them far cleverer than him. Here, being passionate actually meant something. Here you could meet people who could give whole speeches on the linguistic differences between Marlow and Shakespeare to rival anything Ben had ever thrown at his friends in his day.

Peter had to really struggle to keep up, and he had no idea of how to do that. He was entirely unprepared for what it actually meant to be a university student. For most of March he tried, he really did. He dutifully stayed at the library to study, he did all the reading he was assigned, and he kept any thought of partying and drinking to one night a week. – Maybe two. By the end of the month he was starting to slip up though. The hole he was in was just as dark as it had been all summer, and he hadn’t really managed to make any friends. His flat mates were strange and intense, and hanging out with them just took up a whole lot of effort that he didn’t have. School was hard. Being a responsible student was taxing. Going out, picking up people and drinking his brains out? Now that was almost easy. And it distracted from the general nothingness that was taking up his world. Giving in to temptation was almost logical.

* * *

It was a Monday afternoon and his head was pounding, either from the leftover hangover from the weekend or from the dullness of the lecture he had just forced himself to endure. The days had gotten crisper, lately, though the air was still warm and soft. Peter had forgone a jacket that morning, something he was all too happy with as he strode up the steps to the large university library. He had a study group meeting, and he was not looking forward to it. The air drifting through his hair and shirt provided an illusion of temporary relief. He was so lost in his own mind, he almost missed the huddled figure sitting in a sunny spot on one of the steps, plucking at the strings of a Ukulele. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the clipped sound of strings idly flicked, and the wave of unexpected nostalgia it brought, he probably would never have seen him.

  “Balthazar?” the boy looked up from his strings at the familiar voice, frowning at its unexpected presence here. “Hey, man. Good to see you,” Peter made his way over, a broad smile on his face that didn’t entirely reach his eyes.

  “Pedro?” Balthazar pushed all his confusion into that one word, squinting up at Peter.

  “Actually I go by Peter, now.” Peter awkwardly scratched his at his neck. This was the first time he met someone from before he made the name change. Balthazar squinted even more in his confusion.

  “Okay,” he said slowly. It was silent between them for a moment, as Balthazar’s eyes returned to the ukulele in his hands.

  “So, you go here as well?” Peter nodded to the University Library rising imposingly behind them with its glass façade. Balthazar turned to look over his shoulder as well, before nodding almost absentmindedly as was his custom. “Okay, well, I have a study group session,” Peter waved over his shoulder, sensing Balthazar’s lacking enthusiasm.

  “Right,” Balthazar nodded, looking back up, plucking at the strings again.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around?” Peter added, a touch of hope and a hint of trepidation sneaking into his voice. Biting his lip, Balthazar nodded.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m actually playing a gig at this coffee shop this afternoon, if you want to drop by,” he offered, eyes drifting back to the hand still occupied with the ukulele.

* * *

The coffee shop was stuffed with students getting their end-of-the-day caffeine shot. It was a small place close to the law department of the university. Couches and soft chairs were gathered in a labyrinth under vintage signs proclaiming the vegan persuasion of the place. When Peter had crammed his way through the door, Balthazar’s unique voiced had already been drifting over the general hubbub of the place. Peter had made his way to the que and, after a few songs, managed to get a drink. Getting a seat, however, turned out to be impossible even if he had been prepared to share with strangers. He ended up leaning against the wall with an almost clear view of the little corner Balthazar had been stuffed into along with an imposing mike and a guitar. He looked as at home as he ever had on a stage, never quite looking at the audience, singing, mostly, to himself, instead.

Watching him was almost achingly familiar. Peter had been to quite a few of Balthazar’s gigs back in Auckland, and had always felt almost protectively proud of the other boy. His voice as it sang melancholically of things mostly locked away in the far-away gaze of Balthazar’s blue eyes, vibrated through his bones. How people could just sit in couches and chairs, drinking coffee and talking about mundane things and not be lured away on a journey you could never really comprehend, Peter would never understand. Soon enough Balthazar made his thank-you’s, shrinking back into the awkward, absentminded boy Peter had spent years trying to decipher.

A group of people happened to leave at the same time Balthazar made his way over to Peter, guitar case in one hand, cup of steaming liquid in the other. They settled into facing chairs that looked fancier than they were to sit in, looking at each other in small bursts as they had always done.

  “So,” Peter started, breaking the foreign tension between them, “Wellington?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Balthazar nodded, “I needed to get out of Auckland, and the Uni here has a decent music program so…” he did a ‘here I am’ shrug, taking a sip of his drink. “What about you, I thought you always wanted to go to Auckland Uni?”

  “Oh, yeah, well. I needed to get away, too. After all the drama, I just. Needed the change, I guess.” Peter ran a hand through his hair, and then tried to repair the damage, probably ineffectively. Balthazar nodded thoughtfully, taking another sip. That was Balthazar, not asking the tough questions if he could avoid it, always stepping around the touchy subjects.

    “So where are you staying? Did you get a dorm, or?” he re-directed the subject, and Peter happily let him.

  “Nah, I got a flat along with a few others. Didn’t apply in time, so.” He shrugged, leaning back in the chair, trying to relax into a conversation with the person who used to be his closest confidant, once upon a dream.

  “Right,” Balthazar nodded, “Me, too. Though my roommates are a bit much, and the rent is a bit higher than I would like. But, you know.”

  “Oh, well, we’re looking a fourth roommate, if you want?” the words were out of Peter’s mouth before he had time to acknowledge their existence. Balthazar looked up at him, his eyes a mix of hope and caution. He had never been one for tense environments, Peter knew, and had always needed his own space to retreat too. “I mean, you don’t have to decide anything right this second but you could maybe come by, see the room some time?”

  “Yeah? You sure your roommates would be okay with that?” Peter nodded quickly. The offer may not have been consciously delivered, but he knew, from the downward slope of Balthazar’s shoulders and the fact that he had even admitted to his roommates getting on his nerves, that it was needed. “I might just do that, then.” Balthazar decided with a small smile. “Just to see.”


	2. Chapter 2

# Chapter 2

Balthazar moved in a few weeks later. He had been to Peter’s flat a few days after the coffee shop, and Peter’s flat mates, Thomas the lanky politics guy and Chris, the edgy English lit. chick, had taken to him straight away. They had reassured Balth that they had no problems with him playing music, and had spent a couple hours that day getting to know him better.

Having Balthazar around, it turned out, was both achingly familiar and strangely weird. It had been less than half a year since they had been best friends, yet they suddenly acted like acquaintances at best, having brief conversations over meals or run-ins in the kitchen. It didn’t start out like that. During the first few days they had tried re-establishing their former friendship, but suddenly it was as if they had nothing to really talk about. Peter continued his partying lifestyle, which Balthazar was not particularly a fan of. The first few times Peter brought someone over, or did the walk of shame home, Balth had tried starting a conversation about it, but Peter had brushed it off. It was his life, and he didn’t see why they needed to talk about it. Balthazar had been the first person Peter had come out to. He had never felt judged before. Now, he sort of did. – Even if Balthazar just wanted to know if he had had a good time or if Peter was planning on seeing the person again.

 Where Peter had dialled the volume up, Balthazar had dialled down. He had always been leaning towards the quiet side, but where he used to be content being quiet in the middle of the party, he now seemed to shy away from all human interaction. He spend most of his time locked behind his bedroom door, burying himself in school work and music. Peter had tried to talk to him about it. It had gone about as well as when Balthazar had tried to talk to him about his life decisions.

So they found a routine that involved as little direct interaction as possible while still being constantly aware of the other. Balthazar would leave toast and pain killers next to Peter when he fell asleep on the couch. Peter, in turn, would leave cups of tea or plates of vegan food outside Balthazar’s door when he knew Balthazar had a test or a gig or something coming up. The both of them still interacted with the other two roommates on a regular basis, just never really at the same time. It lead to a lot of tenseness in the flat, but they soldiered on.

(*)

A Saturday evening in the middle of May Peter stumbled home, alone, regrettably, and slightly more drunk than usual. The door to the flat wouldn’t stop moving when he tried to open it. He kept trying, but it was as if the handle moved every time he reached for it. He was getting quite fed up with it really, and he just wanted to crash face first onto his bed and forget that tonight ever happened. Suddenly, the door opened, seemingly on its own accord. Peter stared at it in confusion for a while, before he noticed Balthazar holding it open.

  “Heeeey, man” Peter said in his slurred voice, stumbling into the flat, “Thanks!” Balthazar had closed the door after him, one arm folded tightly around his midsection, his face strangely red and splotchy. Physical contact was not really something they did anymore, but Peter still pulled the other in for a tight hug. Balthazar was shaking slightly in his sweater. Peter frowned when Balthazar quickly stepped back out of the hug.

  “It was no problem,” he said before stepping around Peter, heading back towards his room. “Drink some water, yeah?” he said, turning to send Peter a last look, before disappearing from view. Shaking the confusion and the feeling that there was something he was missing from his head, Peter went to get himself a big glass of water from the kitchen before following up on his collapsing in bed plans.

(*)

Peter woke up to a thundering headache and a stomach that insisted on trying to flip the wrong side out. He groaned rolling over in the bed, and throwing an arm up over his eyes to block out some of the light. As he lay there, in a daze, the previous night flittered through his mind. As the picture storm came to an end they stopped abruptly on the sight of Balth standing with his back to the closed door, arms folded around himself, and tear tracks running down his face. Peter groaned again. He knew he had missed something. He forced his aching body to roll, out of bed, making his way across the living room despite the noon sun falling in through the large windows, and knocked softly on Balthazar’s door.

  “Balth, can I talk to you?” he called through the wood. A moment later the door opened and Peter came face to face with a tired looking Balthazar still in his pyjamas and with hair resting flat over his forehead. “Hey, man are you okay?” Peter asked, concern in his voice. Balthazar’s eyebrows rose at the question.

  “Yeah, fine,” he said, looking over his shoulder back into the neat room behind him. “Why?”

  “Oh, I just remembered you looking sort of rough last night when I came in,” Peter inelegantly explained. Once again Balth’s eyebrows raised.

  “Yeah, nah, I’m fine,” he said.

  “Sure?” Peter double checked, though his body was telling him to get back to bed. Balth nodded, and Peter did, too. “Right well. I’ll let you get on with whatever you’re doing,” he took a step back, and watched as Balthazar closed the door once more. Something still seemed off. Frowning, Peter made his way back to his own room, far too tired to try and figure out what was going on.

Over the next few weeks he tried keeping a better eye on Balthazar, he really did. It wasn’t easy though. Whenever Peter tried starting a conversation, Balth would weasel away from any talk about his mental wellbeing. Any talk of Balth’s love life was just as effectively blocked, so Peter had a theory that Balth was going through some sort of break up. – When he mentioned it to their flat mate, Chris, she sort of shrugged.

  “I thought he was seeing some guy, but it’s been a while since he mentioned him, and it never really seemed like anything serious.” She said, taking a sip of her homebrewed latté. “But who knows. He doesn’t really talk about his feelings, does he?” Peter could only shake his head in agreement at that. Once, he thought he knew how to read Balth like an open book. But then An Ode happened, and Peter realised Balth was an expert in under- or overstating emotions to fool you into thinking you knew what he felt when you actually didn’t.

So maybe Balth was just going through some sort of bad break up, but that didn’t stop Peter from worrying about him. His friend had started playing music less, Peter noticed over those couple of weeks, and stopped joining them for dinner as often. He did get out of the flat sometimes, or bring people over, so at least he seemed to have something resembling friends, which was good Peter supposed. But he never really seemed to talk anymore. Whenever Peter saw him with someone else it was always them doing the talking. He wore the same soft smile he had always worn, most of the time. He nodded along whenever Chris bossed him around as she did whit all of them. When Peter was getting into a fight with her or their other flat mate Thomas, Balth was prone to throw in some comment to divert the tension or simply leave the room. On the surface he seemed fine, if a little quieter than usual. Except. There was something about his eyes that Peter didn’t like. An almost haunted look that would sneak up on him when someone was talking; a sadness that lingered even when he smiled. 

Then suddenly exams were coming up, and Peter was forced to face the fact that if he didn’t get his act together he wouldn’t be passing them. All thoughts of figuring out what was going on with Balthazar flew from his head as he suddenly tried to cram a whole semester’s worth of learning into just a few weeks.

 “So in realism the state is the militant and political power entity that’s tied to the whole balance of Power sort of thing, but in institutionalism the state is an institution which may be driven by a number of internal and external actors?” Peter recited as he and Thomas stood side by side by the too short counter, chopping up vegetables for a quick stir fry.

  “Yup. It took me three weeks to get that, and it has taken you like a day.” Thomas shook his head and smirked at the vegetables. They had spent the day studying together, and Peter was finally beginning to feel like he might actually survive his international politics class.

  “Yeah, but no-one says I’ll actually remember any of this, where you’re going to be unable to forget it!” he shot back, placing some of his tomatoes in a separate bowl along with the carrots and cabbage he had saved for Balth’s vegan version. – Peter had been studying by the wobbly living room table all day, so he knew for a fact that Balthazar had skipped lunch. He was not about to let him skip dinner as well. The exam season was hell, Peter was the first to admit, but it seemed to be about to break Balthazar completely. “Can you save some of that zucchini?” he passed over the bowl for Thomas to place some of his diced vegetables into the separate bowl.

  “Why are we saving some of this?” Thomas raised an eyebrow but did as he was asked.

  “For Balth,” Peter said simply, turning to turn on the heating under the frying pan.

  “Yeah, Chris and I have been meaning to ask. What is the deal there? Have we unknowingly ended up in the middle of some nasty break up or something? Because you were the one to suggest lending him the room.” Thomas turned to get the diced chicken from Fridgis Elba, while sending Peter a _look_.

  “No break up,” Peter tried to laugh it off, though that did something to his heart. “We’re just friends. Have been since year 11.” It had taken Peter about a week of Balth living in a flat with him, for him to realise that the feelings it had taken him way too long to recognize for what they were had not disappeared or diminished over time. Thomas raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

  “So what is the deal then? And don’t tell me there isn’t one, when it’s obvious there is. Is it some sort of unrequited love thing?” Peter scratched his neck, checking the temperature of the frying pan.

  “It’s sort of a long story,” he tried, only to get another _look._ “But the abbreviated version is that Balth had a crush on me for a while. I didn’t realise until he wrote a song about it, and then I didn’t deal with it very elegantly – I basically just laughed it off and we never talked about it. Then a whole lot of stuff happened, and I realised how I felt about him. – I came out, but then more stuff got in the way and I never told him how I felt. And then we lost touch over the summer, and by the time I found him here we just weren’t the same people I guess.”

  “Right,” Thomas said, eyes intend on Peter’s face. “But you still have feelings for him?”

  “I…” Peter stuttered, grabbing Balth’s bowl of vegetables and dumbing them in the warm oil. “That’s not really relevant. Pass me the vegan noodles.” Thomas shook his head, plucking the bowl of preheated noodles from the counter.

  “Whatever man, just. The tension is getting kind of ridiculous, so, if there’s no weird break up thing going on, after the break can the two of you just try and act like you can spent five minutes in the same room, please?” Peter was about to argue back, but instead just shook his head, stirring in the sachet sauce.   

  “Whatever,” he said, shrugging, transferring the vegan stir fry to a plate and replacing it with the chicken pieces. Thomas didn’t press the matter, and instead went to set the table for all four of them.

  “Balth?” Peter stuck his head into the room despite Balthazar not answering his knock. Balthazar was sitting cross legged on his bed surrounded by papers and books, one pen tucked behind his hair and one in his hands. His headphones were firmly in place over his ears. “Balth?” Peter called a little louder, stepping into the room, trying not to scare Balthazar with his presence. Balth did jump slightly, quickly pushing the headphones of one ear when Peter bounced the bed lightly. “Dinner.” Peter announced, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m just in the middle of…” Balthazar looked remarkably similar to a zombie with dark circles under his eyes, his hair a mess, and his key bones poking out over the top of the lose sweater he was wearing.

 “Now,” Peter cut over whatever excuse Balthazar was about to make. “You haven’t eaten at all today, so you’re coming out and you’re going to eat the stir fry I made for you, and you are going to take a break from all of this. End off.” The speech was a copy of one he had heard Balth’s mother give whenever the boy had gotten lost in his music. It used to work for her, and apparently it worked now, too. Balth sighed, turned off his music, and got of the bed. Peter let him go ahead of him out the door. Chris and Thomas sent Balthazar warm smiles as the two boys joined them at the table.  

(***)

The exams themselves were even more horrible than the weeks leading up to them. Peter was practically running on three hours of sleep a night and coffee. He had just gotten back from the international politics one, and he actually felt somewhat confident he’d pass. As a reward he had bought a red velvet cupcake at the bakers halfway between the flat and Uni, and was sitting on the red couch with that and a cup of coffee when Balth came in. He’d had an exam as well, and one look at him told Peter all he needed to about how that had gone. Balth’s hands were fisted against his sides, and even from a distance Peter could see how much they were shaking. He was heaving in breath after breath in short stabs that had his shoulders rise and fall in waves. His teeth were clenched firm together, and his eyes were empty and unseeing.

  “Shit, Balth,” Peter got to his feet, quickly making his way over to Balthazar. He had never seen him like this, and it was frankly quite scary. “What’s happening?” he reached for Balthazar to get him to look at him, but Balth took a step back, his hands coming up in front of him as if to stave Peter off.

  “Please, don’t,” he hissed out.

  “Okay, I won’t.” Peter promised, holding up his hands for Balth to see, “Just. Come sit down.” He watched as Balth walked unsteadily to the couch closest to the door, sitting down in one corner. “Balth, are you having a panic attack or something?” Peter asked hesitantly, moving to stay in Balth’s field of vision. He didn’t respond. His breathing only got worse, hissing loudly on every intake that Balth obviously tried to control.

  “Shit, what…” Peter knelt in front of the couch feeling more helpless than he ever had before. He knew very little about panic attacks, and what he knew he had forgotten the second he saw his friend having a break down. Balth didn’t respond, only moved to pull his legs up against his chest, burying his head in his knees. The only sound in the entire flat was that of Balth’s rugged breathing. It felt like entire years passed by as Peter sat in front of that couch, arms flailing from time to time as he tried to figure out what to do, how to help. Finally, the hissing decreased as Balthazar’s breathing started to even out. Peter felt like he might actually burst into tears at the sound.

  “Balth?” he ventured, his arms flailing again. Balthazar’s head was still buried in his knees, but his arm shot out to grab at any part of Peter it came into contact with. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here,” Peter said in his calmest voice, softly trying to dislodge the bruising grip Balth had on his upper arm. He carefully climbed up onto the couch next to Balth folding an arm around his friend. Balthazar sort of keeled to the side falling heavily against Peter.

  “Sorry,” he said in the smallest voice, sniffling a little as he grabbed a hold of Peter’s shirt. What he was apologising for, Peter wasn’t sure.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered softly, “So long as you’re breathing normally I’m good.” Balth huffed out a low laughter, then returned to the exaggerated deep and controlled breaths he had taken up since falling against Peter.

(*)

“It didn’t even go that badly,” Balth said, staring into the depths of the tea Peter had made for him. He was still sitting cuddled up in one corner of the couch, now with the addition of a blanket around his shoulders, and the tea. Peter had moved to the other end of the couch, despite his instinct to be closer to Balth. “I’ve just been worrying about it so long that when it was over, I just sort of broke.”

  “Has it ever happened before?” Peter asked, sipping his own tea. Balth looked up briefly, then averted his eyes off to the side.  

  “Yeah, a few times.” He admitted.

  “Shit, Balthy, why didn’t you tell me?” Balth was back to looking into his mug, pulling his sleeves over his hands.

  “I don’t know, I guess I just. Thought I was dealing okay on my own,” he said, his voice still so tiny. Somehow Peter managed to stop himself from saying something rash to that. He took a deep breath, watching his friend for a moment.

  “Panic attacks are serious Balth. You need to talk to someone about that. – I mean one during exam season is one thing, but if that’s not the first time, then it might be something you actually need help with.” Balth looked off to the side again, and the way he tensed his jaw told Peter that he was stopping himself from saying something. “What?”

  “Nothing,” Balth shook his head, taking another sip of his tea and avoided Peter’s eyes. “I think I’m just going to take a nap or something.” He got up from the couch, and Peter got a distinct feeling he was running away from something. He didn’t say anything though, just letting Balth slip into his own room, the door falling closed behind him.

(***)

After the last exam the flat had decided to go out together. They were all headed back to their respective homes the following day, so it would also be a way to have a last boding session before the break. Balthazar had resisted until that argument was added to the mix. After the panic attack situation Peter and Balth had hardly spoken a word to each other. As they left the apartment that night Balth grabbed a hold of Chris, sending Peter a look over her shoulder that clearly said ‘back off’.

The music in the club they had ended up at was loud and all-consuming. Peter bobbed along to it as he made his way towards the bar. He wasn’t going all out the way he usually did, though he was well on his way to being quite drunk. Balth was holding back, too, he could tell, and for some reason that was getting on his nerves. In fact the whole situation was getting on his nerves. The conversation with Thomas the other week had brought the weirdness going on between him and Balthazar into the light. The thoughts about one failed friendship had only pulled with it the thoughts of all the others. Coupled with the lack of his usual means of distractions, Peter had found himself spiralling. Not that he was admitting to that. So really, why was he holding back, again? He ordered an extra shot to make up for his bad decisions earlier in the night.

His new agenda succeeded and by the time they were walking home, Peter was laughing as his feet tried to walk at least a little straight.

  “Hey,” he slurred, swinging an arm around Balthazar’s shoulder. Balth raised an eyebrow at him. “Why aren’t we friends anymore?”

  “We are friends, Pete,” a significantly more sober Balthazar frowned.

  “Yeah, but not the way we used to be,” Peter slurred, trying to level Balth with a poignant look, “You didn’t even tell me about your panic attacks!” the frown deepened on Balth’s face and he shrugged off Peter’s arm.

  “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly easy to talk to someone who’s hardly ever home and sober at the same time.” His voice was low, and his face turned away. Peter glared at him, nonetheless, stopping in his tracks.

  “What?” he demanded. Balthazar sighed but still turned to face him.

  “Forget it, Pete.” He said, turning to resume walking, but Peter grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

  “No, you don’t get to just brush it of like that! What do you mean? Do you have a problem with the way I live my fucking life, or what?”

  “Peter, you’re drunk. Can we just not do this now?” Balthazar tried to twist out of Peter’s grab.

  “When or how much I drink is none of your business!” Peter insisted, starring Balth down. Balth twisted away from Peter, throwing up his arms in agitation.

  “’Fucks sake, Peter, you go out drinking every fucking night! And it is my business when you come back and wake up the whole flat! It is my business because I actually care about you, and I can’t stand seeing you tear yourself apart like that!” Peter snorted, shaking his head as his eyes grew dark and ominous. “I wouldn’t have a problem with it if it made you happy, but it doesn’t! It’s just a handy excuse for not dealing with the rest of your life!”

  “The fuck do you know?” Peter sneered, steeping right up in Balthazar’s space. Balth starred right back, his hands folded into fists against his side. “As if what you’re doing is so much better, locking yourself away from the fucking world, panicking so much about fucking exams that you have actual panic attacks from it!” Balthazar’s jaw tensed as he bit his teeth together, shaking his head and staring of to the side. When his eyes returned to Peter’s face a second later, they were hard and piercing.

  “At least I admit I have a problem, and I’m doing something about it.” His voice had dropped low, but still cut through the winter air between them, sharp and clear.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter narrowed his eyes even further.

“You know what it means, Peter. You sort your shit out and I’ll deal with mine.” Balthazar said as he stepped back, turned on the spot and marched off, past Chris and Thomas who had stayed silent and staring a few feet off to the side.

 “Fuck you, Balthazar!” Peter called after him, kicking at a stone at the path in front of him. “Fuck you!” 

(*)

The car ride back to Auckland the following day was tense and utterly silent. By the time Peter had made it back to the flat, Balthazar’s door had been firmly shot, and Peter had sneered at it before stomping into his own room, slamming the door behind him. The next morning it had been as if someone had wrapped the entire flat in cotton wool. Everything was muted, somehow, as cars were packed, breakfasts made, and hugs shared shallowly. Balthazar took the wheel for the first half of the eight hour drive, and he spent it staring intently out of the windscreen, hands tight around the wheel. Peter closed his eyes against the hangover he blamed his aching head on, mostly pretending to be asleep.

At the halfway point they switched driver, but that didn’t really change anything. Balth turned his back to Peter as much as he could, staring out the window no less intently than he had been while driving. Peter, in turn, took up Balthazar’s previous position at the wheel.

Peter and Balthazar very rarely fought, and when they did they never quite knew how to deal with it. Balthazar was an expert in silencing his own feelings, but that meant that when they became too strong, he himself became entirely silent. Peter, on the other hand, hated holding back on what he felt. He had been just about to demand answers from Balthazar several time during the drive, but his stubbornness won out every time. Because he was furious with Balthazar, and he was furious about the accusations and the implications of them, and he was not about to let Balthazar know just how hard his words had hit home. So he scowled and he huffed, but he kept his mouth shut.

  “See you in two weeks,” those were the only words spoken on the entire drive. Balthazar slipped out of the car as he said them, not looking at Peter at all. He grabbed his bag from the back, slammed the trunk shut and watched the car as Peter drove back to his parents place.


	3. Chapter 3

# Chapter 3

The break dragged along slowly. Peter kept to his room as much as possible, lying on his bed watching YouTube videos he had little interest in and staring at his ceiling. He had made no plans with any of his former friends, and he didn’t intend to either. They hadn’t contacted him, he told himself, and that probably meant they didn’t want to see him anyway. Besides, he was perfectly happy here. He needed the break and the sleep. The exams had taken a lot out of him. The only time he left his room was when his parents insisted he join the family for meals and movie nights. He retreated to the sanctity of his room as soon as he could.

The Thursday before going back to Wellington Peter snuck out into the living room, while his parents were at work and John was at school. He spend the midmorning playing video games, getting lost in the world of the game. When the front door closed with its usual slam, Peter was jolted back to reality. John came into the room a moment later, and Peter did not consider it beneath him to send his brother a scowl. He knew he should be warmer towards his brother after everything that had happened; after the things John had confessed. But at the moment all he wanted was to be left alone. That didn’t seem to be happening, though, as John dropped onto the couch next to him, grabbing the other controller and inserting himself in the game Peter had been so consumed with.

  “So how’s the depression going?” Peter asked after a moment, going for slightly less mean than he really wanted to be.

  “Fine. How’s yours?” John retaliated, unaffected, as he continued playing. Peter froze, turning to look at his brother with as much venom as he could muster.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he grit out. John didn’t turn, so the look was all in vain.

  “You’re broody, secluded and lash out every time someone tries to have a normal conversation with you. Not exactly a sign of good mental health.” John said calmly, pausing the game and putting the controller on the coffee table in front of them.

  “What do you know about mental health?” Peter sneered, starting the game up again and turning away from his brother.

  “Quite a lot, actually.” John said simply. Peter send him another scowl, “Being depressed and in therapy and all that. I have taken an interest. Done some reading.” Peter snorted, focusing on his game.

  “Well, I’m not depressed.” He said in a tone of voice that should have closed the conversation right down. John didn’t take the hint though.

  “Maybe not,” he relented in that slow, deliberate voice of his. “But then again, I didn’t think I was, and I nearly ruined a lot of people’s lives and friendships.” He got to his feet, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and walking towards the door. “I’m going to do my homework. I have therapy in a couple of hours.” Peter send him another dark scowl as he disappeared out the door.

(*)

On the Saturday before Peter was set to leave for Wellington, Peter’s mother insisted on a family game night. Peter didn’t fight her, mostly to prove John wrong. Game night used to be a joyful part of Peter’s childhood. He used to love getting to spend time with just the four Donaldson’s. His mother would surround the game board with bowls of snacks with this warm smile on her face. He and John would make alliances against their father who would inevitably be caught cheating. Game nights used to be filled with laughter, jokes, and rowdy conversations. As his mother placed a plate of his favourite cookies next to him, that same warm smile on her face, Peter convinced himself that those nights were a thing of the past. They belonged with his childhood memories. He was no longer a child.

  “Monopoly tonight, boys,” his father said as he took his usual seat next to Anne. “And no ganging up on your old man!”

  “Only if you don’t cheat,” John shot back, picking up an apple boat because apparently antidepressants had made him a health freak. Anne just shook her head, smiling softly, as she set up their usual pieces on the starting square of the board. Peter grunted, rolling the dice.

The first game of monopoly was coming to a close when Peter realised something. Game nights hadn’t changed at all. His father still cheated. His mother still smiled, and John still made alliances against their father. There was plenty of laughter and game talk. Only he wasn’t part of it. Not of any of it. He played as if on automatic – roll the dice, move the piece, buy the land or pay the fee, wait for your next turn and repeat. It was as if he was standing outside, looking in at a life that used to be his. When the game ended, he stood up, claiming he still had to pack, and fled the room.

(***)

 Hours later, Peter was still pacing the floor of his bedroom, aimlessly. The thoughts in his head refused to go silent, and they were beginning to not only drive him crazy but actually scare him a little. Peter knew he hadn’t been entirely happy for a while, that he had disappeared into some sort of pit that he had had a hard time pulling himself out of. But he was finding himself, he’d told himself, and everyone struggled with Uni for the first while. He had just been finding his feet in a brand new world. Hadn’t he?

Both Balth and John seemed to think something else, something darker, was going on. What if they were right? What if something serious was up with him? He knew, in theory, that depressions and mental illness were nothing to be ashamed of, that they happened and they were valid and important. That running away or denying them was impossible. But it wasn’t supposed to happen to him. – Because, a vicious little voice told him, he didn’t deserve that buy out. If he was weighed down by guilt, it was because he deserved it. If he hated himself for his actions, then that was justified. His actions were his, he did them. He should live with the consequences of them. But a mental illness was just that; an illness; something external, something independent from him, which had taken a hold of his brain. So what if what he was feeling wasn’t because of the horrible things he had done, but because of some decease? What would that say about him? He should be feeling the guilt and the self-hatred. He deserved that after what he had done. He did.

But he was also just so tired of feeling like this. Just so very, very tired; exhausted. And if, just if, there was a slight possibility of a way out of feeling like the whole world had been put on mute, then wouldn’t it be okay to pursue it? Or was that entitled of him?

By two am the thoughts were starting to drive him absolutely crazy. Not only was the attempt at figuring out if he actually might have a depression or not bubbling along on its own accord, but all the stupid things from the past – all the guilt, hurt, insecurity and failure – had hobbled to the surface as well. Peter felt like he would break in half any second, and he didn’t know what to do to stop it. Which was why he found himself knocking on John’s door in the middle of the night.

“You’re still awake,” Peter stuttered out when his brother opened the door.

  “So are you,” John raised an eyebrow, stepping back to let Peter enter the room. John’s room was entirely different from Peter’s with its stuffed bookshelves, messy bed and haphazardly placed drawings and posters. Peter walked over to the desk chair, plopping into it and twirling around to face his brother who had sat down on the bed. “Is there a reason you’re knocking on my door at two in the morning?” Peter looked at his hands dusting at flecks of dust on the jeans he was still wearing. Just being in the same room of someone else made the thoughts screech to a halt.

  “How do you know if you’re depressed?” he let the words escape on a long exhale.

  “Well,” John dragged a hand through his unruly hair, “there are online tests you can look at. And symptoms to look for. Like fatigue, continuously dark thoughts, feeling distanced from the world. That sort of thing. Any of that apply to you?” Peter did a one-shoulder shrug, not fully meeting his brother’s eyes.

  “What’s it like for you?” he tried deflecting attention from his own crappy situation. John lent back on his hands, a thoughtful look on his face.

  “I guess I felt numb, a lot of the time, and overlooked or misunderstood. Like people only saw my flaws, so why bother being anything else, you know?” John’s voice was collected and distanced.

  “Do you ever think about it?” Peter asked, looking up at John.

  “What?”

  “Hero’s party.” John’s face grew dark as he looked away from Peter.

  “Yeah, I think about it.” he mumbled.

  “Do you ever feel like,” Peter lent his head back to stare up at the white ceiling, “people forgave too easily? Like it wasn’t deserved?”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Just. What you did hurt a lot of people. Does that ever bother you?” John scoffed humourlessly, shaking his head.

  “Does it bother me?” he asked, a sharpness clinging to the edges of his words. Peter looked over at him, shrugging one shoulder and twisting his head to the side.

  “Yeah, I mean, it was your fault.”

  “My fault?!” John’s eyebrows shot up as he stared at Peter with dark eyes and a blank face. “Why are you doing this, Peter?”

  “No, I just. Does it ever feel like people forgave you because you’re depressed?” Peter waved his arms as he tried to make sense of his own words. They didn’t come out the way he intended them to.

  “So you think I deserve to feel like shit because I hurt all your friends, and the fact that I have a depression just shouldn’t matter?” John said slowly, sitting rigidly on the bed. The whole ordeal of the last year or so had taught Peter that John didn’t get angry. Not in the way he did, with flailing arms and yelled sarcastic insults. When John was upset, hurt, angry, or whatever, he froze. Emotions evaporated from his face, and the only thing still living were his burning eyes. “Well, I don’t need you to tell me that, Peter. I already know.” John stood from the bed, walking over to the door and opening it as he spoke. His voice was flat. “I’m tired, though, so I think you should just go.”

Peter dragged a hand through his hair, standing up as well. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he tried as he walked over to John. Why was he so incapable of not hurting people?

  “Just leave,” John said, not looking at Peter. Dragging his hand through his hair again, Peter hesitated, pressing his lips together. When John still stared determinedly in the opposite direction, Peter marched past him without another word.  

By the time Peter reached his room, he felt like punching a hole in the wall. – He did his best, too, which only resulted in sore knuckles. Aggravated, and still feeling like his whole skin was bussing with uncontainable fury, he kicked his bed instead. His room was too small for the feelings swimming around him. His skin was itching, his eyes burning, and his throat tight. An inexplicable energy was coursing through him, making it impossible to stay still. He had to get out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, there.  
> This chapter is quite heavy, so I just wanted to warn you guys about that. - It involves a break-down of sorts and some potentially contestable actions, so. Be careful, please. As always, I am open to comments and questions, so come find me on tumblr, if you prefer. The link's in the first description, if you need it. I'll let you get on with reading, and pretend to get back to work.

# Chapter 4

The neighbourhood he had grown up in was entirely silent at this time of night. All the houses where dark behind the streetlights. There was a time where he knew this place. If he took a left up at the t-section that marked the end of their little cluster of upper middleclass houses spread out like a palm tree, he would be set on the course for Ben’s house – a good 15 minutes bike ride from where he used to live. If he turned right, he would get to Claudio’s place. Meg used to live a short walk from there. If he doubled back and headed into one of the other branches of their palm tree, he would get to the Duke’s house with its pearly white façade and neatly kept front lawn. Ursula and Balthazar shared their own palm-tree cluster a little further down the road. Once upon a time he would have strolled carelessly between these spots, someone was always bound to be home; he would always have someone to go to. That night, standing on a dark suburban street, Peter realised, he had no idea what to do with himself.

(*)

Balthazar’s room was the only one of the family bedrooms that were located on the ground floor of the Jones’ house. That was what you got from being a music playing night owl. His window was dark as all the other windows. Peter could see his own ghostly reflection, illuminated by the spooky blue light of his phone, staring back at him from the darkened glass. He hadn’t realised he was crying.

Balth had always been a light sleeper. It didn’t take more than a few sharp raps on the glass for the curtains to be peeled back, revealing a sleep-rumbled Balthazar. He frowned, staring at Peter for a moment, before he moved to unlatch the hatch, pushing the window open.

  “Pete, what’s wrong?” he asked stepping back to let Peter climb inelegantly into the room. “Peter?” he prompted when Peter stayed still in the middle of the room, arms folded protectively in front of his chest. His eyes were focused on nothing, unseeing. “You’re kind of scaring me here, man.” Slowly, Peter’s eyes slid over to land on Balthazar. He was dressed in a too large t-shirt and loose pants, looking tiny with his ruffled hair and still bleary eyes. He was fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

  “I’m sorry.” Peter gasped out. He had been wandering the neighbourhood for some time, and at some point his mind had simply given up and shut down. He had thought he had been headed home when he found himself outside Balth’s window.

  “You’re sorry?” Balth’s eyebrows shut up his forehead. Peter nodded, clearing his throat. “About the fight? Because you could just have told me that in the car in a few hours.”

 “Not the fight,” Peter shook his head, “Everything.” Balthazar’s face did that thing where a thousand expressions swept over it in a matter of seconds yet somehow not revealing what he was thinking.

  “Everything.” He repeated, arms coming up to fold around himself.

  “Yeah.” Peter said. He thought maybe his hands were shaking.

  “You’re going to have to elaborate on that, Peter,” Balthazar went to sit on the bed, his raised eyebrows a clear instruction for Peter to join him there. Mechanically, Peter sat down next to Balth, his hands folded one on top of the other on top of his knees as they sat side by side.

  “I keep screwing up.” Peter confessed, his voice tiny in the quiet room. “I don’t mean to, it just keeps happening. And I keep hurting people because of it, people I really, really like. People I don’t ever want to be in pain. But they are. Because I screw up.” Peter turned his head to send Balth an imploring look. Balth looked back, steadily, reaching over to take one of Peter’s shaking hands into his own, twining their fingers together. He stayed silent, his open eyes telling Peter to keep talking. “Hero is one of the purest people to ever exist, and I ruined her.” Peter’s heart twisted painfully as he spoke. “And John’s been to hell and back, and I just keep walking right over him. I mean, his mom fucking died in a car crash. He had to move to a whole other country to live with someone he had hardly ever met, but who claim to be his family. And I’m just so selfish. I just treat him like shit and don’t even see it because I’m too focused on my own fucking life, like. How self-centred can you get? Like. Boohoo, the girl you thought you had feelings for laughed at your feelings. Grow the fuck up, and look at the bigger picture. Don’t fucking throw people’s mental illnesses in their face to make yourself feel vindicated or whatever.” Peter threw himself backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling above him.

Balth had always had a thing against undisturbed surfaces. His sister had painted multi-coloured spirals and flowers on the white expanse over the bed. She knew Balthazar had a hard time falling asleep because of the white endlessness. Peter and Balth had spent hours side by side, staring at that ceiling, exchanging thoughts and secrets. Peter had come out for the first time staring at those spirals. They used to calm him down as much as they did Balthazar. Tonight they made his heart speed up and tears roll down his cheeks, thick and ugly. “I can’t fucking do it, Balth,” he hiccupped, “I can’t fucking be a good person.”

  “You are a good person, Peter,” Balthazar whispered, laying down next to him, twining their fingers back together between them. The touch almost burned Peter.

  “Don’t fucking say that, Balth.” Peter hissed brokenly.

  “You are,” Balth turned to look at Peter, who shook his head almost violently.

  “I’m not.” He insisted. “I can’t be. A good person doesn’t hurt all the friends he has ever had. A good person doesn’t laugh of other people’s feelings to avoid dealing with their own. A good person doesn’t lead other people on and then chicken out at the last minute. A good person would admit they loved you back and do everything to make you the happiest person ever. You’re a good person. You’re the best person I know. I’m a screw up.” Balthazar had turned onto his side, watching Peter almost solemnly. Slowly, he reached over to softly wipe tears from Peter’s cheek.

  “You are a good person, Pete. You’re _my_ good person. And yeah, you’ve made mistakes in the past, but, like, we all screw up sometimes. It doesn’t mean you don’t have, like, the biggest, most inclusive, heart ever.” Balthazar rolled over to lie on top of Peter, pressing him into the mattress with his weight. “You didn’t ruin Hero, and yeah you messed up with John, but he’s made his own messes, and you’re both dealing with it. And you still have time to tell me you love me back. I can wait a little longer.” Tears were still welling out of Peter’s eyes, almost resignedly, as he looked into Balth’s honest, calm eyes. Slowly, Balth pushed himself up to get level with Peter’s face. “I love you, Peter Donaldson. And you _have_ screwed up in the past, but _you_ are not a screw up.” Peter drew in a shuttering breath, feeling like he was on the edge of breaking down completely. If it hadn’t been for Balth’s body pressing him down, he might have already.

  “Balth,” he sobbed out, not knowing what else to say. It felt like Balth’s words had pierced his skin, sinking in deep like a soothing balm, pinning him to the bed almost as effectively as Balth’s body.

  “Shhh,” Balth whispered, and then lips pressed against Peter’s silencing his whirlwind mind. Peter kissed back hesitantly, then sighed softly when Balth moved to press tiny little kisses to his jaw and neck.

The world still felt incomprehensively dark, and Peter had no idea of how to face John. All the hurt and anger still existed. But the little soft brushes of lips over his skin were soothing, and reminded his mind and body of how utterly exhausted he was. His eyes burned even as they slid shut, and a part of Peter wanted desperately to turn over, curl up and let the tears continue to fall, but Balth’s body prevented that. Soft fingers carded through his hair, and Balth hummed softly as he moved to kiss away the frown from Peter’s forehead. The room was quiet as everything turned hazy, for a moment, before Peter stopped noticing it all together.

(***)

The loud shrill ring of an alarm made the both of them startle awake. It took Peter a couple of seconds to realise why a warm body was pressing him into a soft mattress that smelled intimately of his once best friend. The memories hit him like a punch, forcing a gasp from his lungs. Balthazar was grumbling, moving to turn of the alarm before sitting up in the bed, stretching his arms high over his head. Peter had fallen asleep laying across the bed, feet dangling of the side, and still in his jeans, t-shirt and coat. He could feel old sweat clinging to the back of his neck, and his knees aching from the awkward position.

  “Hey,” Balth was looking at him, rubbing at his right eye. His hair was sticking in all directions, and he was back to looking tiny in oversized clothes as he sat cross-legged on the bed next to Peter.

  “Hey,” Peter replied, his voice rough and scratchy in his throat. He wiped at his face, trying to wake up enough to figure out what he was feeling, and what to do from here. He could still feel the ghost of the kisses Balth had given him a few hours before. He could also still see the look on John’s face as he asked Peter to leave.

  “How are you doing?” there was a hesitancy in Balth’s eyes that didn’t make it into his concerned voice.

  “Pretty crappy, actually.” Peter answered sitting up and stretching. Balth nodded, looking down at his hands twined together in his lap. “I think I’m just going to run home, take a shower and get the car.” They say that everything looks brighter in the morning light, but even though the first rays of the sun were making their way through Balth’s window, Peter still felt like the world was erupting around him. Balthazar watched him get up from the bed. “See you in like an hour?” Peter knew he was running away, and he knew that Balth knew it, too. Balthazar just nodded, looking off to the side.

  “See you,” he muttered, voice passive and flat. Not daring to look back at him in fear of seeing the light switched of in Balth’s eyes, Peter quickly climbed out the window.

(*)

“We’re not going to talk about it, are we?” Balth had insisted on taking the first turn at the wheel, arguing that he had gotten more sleep, and hadn’t suffered through some type of break down. Peter hadn’t put up much of a fight, just switched seats, leaning his head against the cold glass of the window and shutting his eyes against the bright winter sun. That had been a couple of hours ago, and Peter had had more than enough time to avoid thinking about John not even leaving his room to say goodbye. Their mum had sent a resigned look Peter’s way, shaken her head and hugged her eldest goodbye as he got in the car and drove off.

  “Talk about what?” Peter played dumb, turning to send Balth an inquisitive look. He caught Balth’s eye-roll.

  “You know what, Pete.” He grit out through clenched teeth. Peter sighed turning back to stare out the passenger side window. Trying to avoid thinking about the mess he had made of his relationship with his brother had freed up a lot of space for avoiding thinking about his relationship with Balth, changed as it inevitably had been by last night.

  “I just can’t, Balth,” he sighed, cringing at the look of hurt he knew would be on Balthazar’s face about then. “I just. It’s not. I mean. With the rate I’m going it just wouldn’t.” the words wouldn’t make sense in Peter’s head. He knew it didn’t really matter though. No matter what he said, Balth would get hurt. – Again. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the window, letting the coldness of the glass seep in through his skin. “I’m too fucked up, Balth. I care about you too much. I just can’t screw it up.” Balthazar didn’t say anything, and Peter didn’t have the guts to look over and start the process of deciphering what might be going on in Balth’s head.

  “I have set up an appointment with student services. – They have therapists for students. I think you should do the same.” Balthazar’s voice was tight and strained. He was staring determinately at the heavy traffic on the highway south when Peter turned to look over at him.

  “I will.” Peter surrendered with a sigh.

    “Good.” Balth nodded briefly, still not looking at Peter. He pulled in a breath, on the verge of saying something else, but then stopped himself at the last moment. “And I know I took advantage of you last night, so I just need you to know that that won’t happen again. I promise. No more kissing or crossing any boundaries without consent.” He said after another moment of tense silence. Peter frowned in confusion, but Balthazar wasn’t looking at him. “But. I want to be your friend again, like, actually, properly friends. We’re both going through shit, and I don’t really trust anyone else to help me through it. And I want to be there for you, too. I get that you can’t deal with more, but I still love you, and I need to be there for you, so. You’re just going to have to live with that.”

  “Okay,” Peter agreed, making Balth nod sharply. “We’ll be friends.”


	5. Chapter 5

# Chapter 5

Being back in wellington with the newly gained insight into his mental state was like a shock to the system. Peter lived up to his promise of going to student services, and his suspicion of a depression was quickly confirmed. He started cognitive therapy that same week. That was probably the hardest thing Peter had ever had to do in his entire life. He and his new therapist, a relatively young man with an open face and quiet stance, clicked relatively of the bat, and Peter soon fell into a rhythm of talking, listening and thinking. One of the quickest positive outcomes came in the form of reconciliation with John.

“You picked up,” Peter said dumbly as the skype ringtone faded and a grainy live picture of John replaced the generic one of John pulling a hand through his messy hair. John grimaced back at him.

  “I didn’t know if I would until just now,” he said slowly, not looking directly at the camera.

  “I’m sorry.” Peter carded his fingers through his own hair. “I was way out of line.” John nodded. Peter looked down, picking at some fluff on his bedspread. “Did your first therapy session kick your ass? Or is it just me?” he asked after a while in silence, looking up to find John raising an eyebrow.

  “It was pretty rough, yeah,” he said. Peter nodded, sighing. He had been to his first official session a couple of hours ago. – Hours he had spent taking a nap, utterly emotionally exhausted.

“So what’s the verdict?” John asked after another pause. Peter looked up to find his brother apparently studying him through the screen.

  “Depression.” He said. “No pills just yet, but heaps of therapy. And exercises.” John smirked knowingly.

  “Right, well, I know the first while sucks. But it’ll get better. Take it from someone who knows. You just have to suck it up for a while.” Peter was picking at the fluff again.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been told. Anyway. How’re things your end?”

(*)

It was getting late. Peter straightened out his back, feeling the knots in his neck and back pop as he rolled his shoulders. Another paragraph, and he would try and go to sleep, he promised himself, as a yawn escaped him. Being in therapy had made Peter re-evaluate almost all of his life choices. For the first few weeks he’d felt entirely untethered, floating amongst all the choices he’d had made, trying to decipher which actually reflected who he was and who he wanted to be. It felt as if there were no right decisions. As if he could never be who he wanted to be, either because he had no clue as to who that might be, or because he felt like he could never to live up to the goals he managed to identify.

  He did make two crucial, unnegotiable rules, though, in cooperation with his therapist. One: No alcohol. At least not for a while. It wasn’t that he suddenly disliked drinking and partying, or that he saw it as an unhealthy thing in and of itself. But he had come to understand that he had been using alcohol as an out, in a way that wasn’t healthy to him. So until he knew that drinking became a mode of social interaction and not an outlet again, he had cut himself off. The decision did lead to a lot of frustration and evenings spent pacing his room, which only proved his theory of it being bad for him at the moment.

Two: he was going to focus more whole-heartedly on his studies. He had passed his exams, but the grades, he knew, were not up to par with what he should have been able to show. Being depressed shouldn’t be allowed to ruin his chances for a good future. So assignments became a new top priority in his life. They also proved to be a good distraction for when thinking just became too overwhelming. He flicked over a few pages in his book, looking for a good quote to open the next paragraph with when there was a soft knock on his door. Frowning over being pulled from his thoughts he got up to answer it.

Balthazar look up when the door opened, meeting Peter’s eyes briefly. They were wide, the pupils large in the sea of blue. His arms were hanging stiffly down his side, fingers flexing around the hem of his long sleeves.  He was moving his weight from one foot to the other as he whispered out a soft ‘hey’.

  “You having another panic attack?” Peter asked, already gearing up for the worst. Balth quickly shook his head, grabbing a hold of one wrist.

  “Anxiety attack. Less violent, but more persistent.” He said, clearly fighting to say anything at all.  “Right,” Peter nodded even though he had no idea of what that meant. “Well, what do you need?” A part of the whole re-enacted friendship thing, they had agreed, involved letting the other in on dark episodes instead of trying to deal with it on their own. So really, Peter should have been prepared to take over for Balth in his time of need, just like Balth had done the other day when Peter had found it almost impossible to get out of bed. “Do you want a cup of tea?” he tried hesitantly. The corner of Balthazar’s mouth curled upwards shortly, and he nodded. Relieved, Peter made his way to the kitchen, pulling down two mugs and putting the kettle to boil. He turned back towards Balth, who was watching him intently, still shifting and swaying in place as if it was impossible for him to stay in one place.

  “Hug?” Peter spread his arms wide in invitation, raising his eyebrows in question. Last time he had seen Balth in a state similar to this, the other had been craving the close contact. “Strictly as friends, I promise.” He added, when Balthazar looked unconvinced. Closing his eyes and exhaling, Balth nodded his head. When Peter folded his arms around him, Balth let his head fall into the crook between Peter’s neck and shoulder, letting out the air from his lungs, and practically sagging against Peter. He was shivering lightly, Peter noticed as he stroked Balth’s back in reassurance. “I’ve been meaning to binge-watch Firefly again. Maybe tonight’s the night.” Peter mumbled. Balth inhaled sharply, then let the air rush from his lungs in a long exhale.

  “Yeah, I could be down for some Firefly.” He agreed.

(*)

Not being out every other night while still craving social interaction, meant that Peter had found himself looking for other ways to get himself out of the flat and engage with other people. He found it when his co-worker at the bar came with a proposition.

“Hey, can I come in?” Peter stood in the doorway to Balthazar’s room, griping the frame of the door, as he looked at Balth sitting cross-legged on the bed. Balthazar nodded easily, placing his book on the bed next to him. Peter smiled, bouncing onto the bed and settling on it next to Balth. “So I went to this audition last week, sort of spontaneously. Jaquie from work sort of dragged me, but it seemed like it might be fun, so I kind of also let her. Anyway, I just got the call from the director. I got the lead!” Balth had watched him, a look bordering on amused on his face, as Peter spoke. He lit up in a, for Balthazar, beaming smile at the end of Peter’s tale.

  “Wow, congrats, man. That’s really great.” Peter smiled back as Balthazar reached over to pull him into a brief hug. Getting the lead had not been at all expected. – Peter had aimed at one of the smaller roles – less responsibility and a smaller spotlight for his first acting project had seemed to be the best route to take. No reason to overdo it really. But the lead he had gotten, and now he was stuck with it. “You’re going to do great!” Balth said in a small, somewhat intimate voice, reading Peter’s mind.

  “Thanks, mate,” he muttered. “I hope so.”

(***)

 “Hey,” Balth’s head popped around the edge of the door, and the sight of Peter made the soft smile slip from his face. “Black evening, huh?” he said. Peter could only nod, peering over the edge of the screen. He hated that he still got like this. Hated the feeling of drowning in nothingness, hated the inexplicable sadness that would rear its head after an otherwise fine and productive day. “Alone black evening or not alone black evening?”

Some days, the days they had termed as black not-alone days, Balth was the only person Peter could even fathom having in his space. Some days it felt like he couldn’t breathe unless his friend was there. On other days, the black alone days, even being with Balth was out of the question. Balth had taken up asking Peter every morning what type of day he was having. For a long time the answer was mostly ‘black day’, but then the white days started popping up, and every time they did, Balthazar would smile and give him a high-five. On the days they didn’t he would nod his head, make tea and sit with Peter, watching a show on rerun for hours, not demanding conversation, just letting them exist in the same space for a while.

“Not alone black evening,” Peter said softly, looking back at the screen. He had been watching YouTube clips, though they hadn’t really made any impression at all.

  “I’ll get some tea,” Balth nodded, disappearing out the door for a moment.

The best thing to come out of his mini-break down over the winter-break was the rekindling of his friendship with Balthazar. It was almost as if someone had flipped a switch, and they were back to how they used to be. At least more or less so. Now that schoolwork was back on the agenda, the two of them often found themselves sitting at the dining table with their books, studying side by side in silence. Balth had taken to bring his guitar into the common room or into Peter’s Vampire Cave, as Balth had dubbed it, working on his music as Peter went over his lines or wrote his papers. They hung out most days, taking breaks together to go for walks or cook meals or watching movies with Thomas and Chris.

“I actually have some news,” Balthazar said as he re-entered the room, settling on the bed next to Peter. “I got a job today. A music job.” Peter rolled his head over to look at Balth, taking in the supressed proud smile and the eyes alight with life. “This restaurant has, like, live music on most nights for diners, and they were looking for someone new after one of their guys quit. It’s three nights a week, and the pays not that great, but its music.”  The way he said it, with warmth and happiness, made something melt inside Peter.

  “Shit, Balth, that’s amazing!” Balth’s smile widened as he looked into his tea.

  “Yeah, I’m. I’m really happy. – You know, scared shitless, but. Really happy.”

  “You should be. You deserve it, you’re amazing.” Balth, still smiling softly, sighed, leaning into Peter’s space as he rested his head on Peter’s shoulder and reached over to start the next video. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Peter rested his head against Balth’s. “They’re going to love you.” He said because he had to say something. Balth just hummed softly.

  “This one’s really good,” he said, pointing to the video he had decided on.

  “Yeah,” Peter agreed, inhaling deeply, letting the warmth of Balthazar’s body, pressed close against his side, seep into his bones.

(*)

When Peter woke there was a hand resting on his face. He groaned confused, shaking his head to dislodge it in the same way he would have, had it been a fly. The hand didn’t move though. Sighing, Peter rolled over to look at the boy asleep next to him, curled up in a ball, head resting on the hand not in Peter’s face.

Balthazar had been diagnosed with anxiety around the same time Peter had gotten his diagnosis. After that first attack the two of them had learned to navigate the situation, just like they had learned how to deal with Peter’s depressive episodes. Peter learned to wrap a blanket around his friend, letting him shake and mumble his way through the attacks at his own pace. Then there would be more show re-runs with added cuddling. Balthazar seemed to crave the physical reassurance of another person as his body calmed down. This craving was what Peter blamed the occasional sleep-over on. They had started after Balth’s first attack with Balth falling asleep against Peter’s shoulder, and Peter not finding it in him, moving Balth back to his own room. It was never more than sharing a bed, not even touching, just knowing that someone else was there. It helped, too, knowing that both didn’t strictly have to stay awake with the other on nights were crawling into bed seemed to do the trick.

Peter smiled, gently moving the hand to rest next Balth’s sleeping face. Rather than stay and watch his friend sleep, Peter snuck out of the bed, letting Balth’s door fall closed behind him.

“What is up with this?” Thomas walked into the kitchen ten minutes later, rubbing his eyes. Peter looked over at him questioningly as he pulled down an extra mug. “Every Wednesday morning, all semester, you have been up before me. That never happened last semester!” Thomas explained, accepting the now filled mug.

  “Well, what can I say? I’m a changed man,” Peter joked, sipping his own coffee.

  “Yeah, seems like it,” Thomas shook his head, pulling out a bowl and filling it with cereal. “So, are we on for a study session later?” Thomas and Peter were once again taking some of the same classes, and had decided to partner up on the studying for the semester.

“’Course. I should be done at the library at five.” Balthazar’s friend Paige had gotten Peter the job at the university library. It consisted mainly of stocking the shelves, but the hours were good, as was the pay. Plus, it involved way less drinking, which Peter was sort of happy with.

  “Morning Thomas,” Balth smiled tiredly as he entered the kitchen a little while later. “Peter. Black day/white day?”

  “White,” Peter responded, giving Balth a thumps up.

“Yeah, five days!” Balthazar smiled, high-fiving Peter. Thomas shook his head, watching them, as Peter poured Balth a cup of coffee as well.

  “Right, so, are we still pretending that the sleep-overs are accidental?” he asked, looking between them.

  “We’re just friends,” Peter said as Chris entered the kitchen as well. She rolled her eyes, obviously having caught Peter’s words. It was no secret that she had decided the two of them had something going on. She didn’t say anything, though, just pulled down a mug and passed it to Peter for him to fill.

Thomas shook his head, chewing his cereal, and Balth smiled behind his mug.

  “So Balth, what are we doing for your birthday?” Peter asked, passing the mug back to Chris and hoping for a diversion of the conversation. He already knew the answer to his own question, though, and the amused look Balth send him confirmed that he knew that, too.

  “Well, you’re taking me to that concert, remember? And then we’re doing, like, a brunch for friends and family in the morning since it’s on a Saturday, and people are off work.” Balth answered generously.

“Peter’s taking you, huh?” Chris looked between them, “So like a date?”

  “Nah, nah, like.” Balth cut in easily, “it’s his present to me, so.” Balthazar had learned about the concert via some email-service he subscribed to from a small venue for indie bands. He had mentioned it to Peter in passing, and Peter had then promptly decided they were going. The smile on Balth’s face when Peter told him had been worth every penny he’d paid for the tickets.

  “Right, we should get going,” Peter told Thomas, making his way out of the kitchen before anymore comments could be made. “See you guys later.”


	6. Chapter 6

# Chapter 6

Music was blaring loudly from the loudspeakers in the corner of the room. The flat was empty, perhaps for the first time since Balth moved in with them. Thomas was at his girlfriend’s place, and wouldn’t be back until the next morning. Chris was out on a date, her arrival back not set. Balth was at work and wouldn’t be back for another hour or so. Peter was taking advantage of the solitude by singing loudly along to his favourite music, dancing as he carried silverware, plates and their diverse collection of mugs from the kitchen into the living room.

Balth’s birthday brunch was taking place the next day. Peter knew Balthazar would be tired from work, so he had taken it on himself to prepare despite Balth’s protestations that it wouldn’t be a problem. After the year he had had, Balth’s birthday was going to be the best ever. He deserved that. So Peter had spent hours on the best present he could think of, which was now safely hidden in the Vampire Cave, and he had made reservation at this vegan-friendly restaurant in the city centre for the two of them. He had baked a cake and decorated it, all on his own. – That had taken a few hours, but he was reasonably happy with the outcome. Best of all, though, he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he could do this. He could kick back and just _be happy_. That might, however, also be linked to his ulterior motive that no-one knew about. Chris had continued teasing the two of them about the obvious date-like nature of the birthday evening Balth had planned, and Peter had realised that he actually really wanted it to be. A date. A beginning. For the two of them. They were both doing so much better, and the more Peter had allowed himself to think about it, the more convinced he had gotten that they were in the perfect place to take their relationship to the level it had been reaching for, for years. Balth’s birthday was the perfect opportunity as well. It marked a new start, it was a special occasion, and it already involved a grand gesture for Peter to exploit.

  “Strawberries, mixed berries, bananas, oranges, quinoa seeds, apples, carrots,” Peter counted of, making sure he had unearthed bowls enough for the selection of smoothie ingredients he and Balth had picked up the other day.  The dining table had been converted into a smoothie station, littered with as of yet unfilled bowls, the blender and an amalgamation of glasses of all shapes and sizes. The top of the bookcase pushed up against the wall now contained all plates, cups, thermos flasks, and jars of condiments to be found in the flat as well as the toaster.  Above it, Peter had pinned the banner Thomas had made for the occasion. Balloons had been tied to lamps and pinned to the chest of draws by the red couch. Placing his hands on his hips, Peter took a step back to evaluate the situation. Then, nodding in satisfaction, he turned on his heels, walking into the kitchen to get started on the pancake batter. Only a few minutes later Peter heard the door open with its creak.

  “Hey,” he called, flicking on the kettle. “Bring some mugs, would you?”

  “Sure and hey, back,” Balth entered the kitchen a moment later, two mugs in hand. “You’ve had a productive night huh? I told you, you didn’t have to do all that.”

“Nah, I wanted to,” Peter brushed him of, smiling when Balthazar moved over to stand next to him, lower back leaning against the counter.

  “Well, thanks.” Balth twisted around to grab a roll of biscuits from the counter behind him. Over the month Balth had been working, the two of them had started up a new tradition of meeting in the kitchen for a late night snack and calming cup of herbal tea. Performing always took some winding down for Balth, and Peter had come to enjoy the soft calmness that was late night performance-high Balthazar Jones.

  “So, are you ready for tomorrow? Nineteen. Last of the teens.” Peter carefully measured out the milk before adding it to the mix in the bowl. 

  “Yeah, yeah.” Balth laughed turning around to add tea bags to the mugs. “I think I’m good. Someone did all the preparations I thought I had to stay up late to get sorted, so. That’s a good start, I feel.” Peter watched him as Balth poured water into the mugs, taking in his easy smile and calm, sparkling eyes. Balth passed him one of the steaming mugs before taking a large gulp of his own, not even winching as he turned back around, cradling both hands around the cup and leaning back against the counter.

“How does that not hurt?” Peter wondered, blowing away the steam from his own mug. Balthazar looked over at him, eyebrows raised, and shrugged.

“Years of training I guess,” he smiled, picking out another biscuit, snapping it in half before popping the smaller piece into his mouth.

“So, how was work?” Peter whisked the batter enthusiastically, and Balth laughed softly when it predictably sprayed over the edge of the bowl. 

  “Good.” He popped in the second half of his biscuit. “I tested out one of my new songs, you know the New Beginning one I played for you the other day. They seemed to like it.” The work at the restaurant had turned out to be brilliant for Balthazar. – A playground for him to enjoy testing out new music or expand on his already existing repertoire.

  “Yeah? That’s great. – It’s a good song.” Peter had gotten the batter back under control.

  “Thanks.” Balth washed down his snack with another swig of steaming tea. “There was this couple sitting at the table next to the, like, stage-type area where I play from, tonight. And they were like obviously on a first date, and like really wanted to get to know each other, but I was playing music right next to the table, and, I mean, the music isn’t like loud or anything, but when you’re sitting at the table right next to it, it can be quite hard having a conversation. So, the guy, this hipster-like type with like a beard and this weird shirt kept saying ‘Excuse me?” every few seconds, and the girl was starting to look really annoyed. But then, like the waiter came over and offered to move them to another table, and they thanked her, but then the guy turned to me just before they moved and was like ‘sorry, it’s not you, I just have this hearing problem, but your music’s really great.’ And they left. It was pretty cool.” Balthazar was turning over to pick up his mug when Peter leaned in to kiss him. For a second, Balth froze, but then he responded, kissing back softly. It didn’t evolve much, staying gentle and chaste even as Balth’s hand gently folded around Peter’s neck. Peter hadn’t even really moved, still mostly facing the bowl, whisk awkwardly in the hand closest to Balthazar. It still lit every single of his nerve endings on fire.

  “Hipster guy’s right. Your music is really great,” Peter said awkwardly turning back to the task at hand without letting himself meet Balth’s eyes. What had just happened? He was supposed to wait another day, damn it. It was supposed to be perfect and special. Balth hummed, draining his mug, winching, and staring at the cup offendedly.

  “So is kissing something we’re doing now?” he said casually, placing the mug back on the counter. “Because if it is, I don’t know how we’re going to stop Thomas and Chris from questioning our friendship.”

  “What if we don’t?” Peter’s heart was beating hard in his chest. This what not what he’d planned. He wasn’t prepared for this.

  “Don’t what, kiss? Because we just did.” For all the bravura and tease in his voice, Balth seemed unable to meet Peter’s eyes.

  “Don’t stop Thomas and Chris from questioning our friendship.” Peter clarified, turning to give Balth his full attention. Balthazar was fiddling with the edge of his sleeves, staring at the ground. There was a slight blush to his cheeks, and he was biting at his lip. “What if we actually did go on a date tomorrow night? I mean, it already is in everything but name, so. How would you feel about changing the name?” Balth’s eyes slowly rose to meet Peter’s. The feelings in them were swimming about openly. – Hope, happiness, hesitance. Peter reached over to twine his fingers together with Balth’s. “How would you feel about not just being my friend, but being my boyfriend?” Balth’s didn’t reply right away, licking his lips instead as his eyes searched Peter’s face.

  “Yeah, I’d. That would make me very happy.” He whispered out.

  “Yeah? Me, too.” Peter whispered back, stepping in front of Balth so that he was pressed back against the counter. “I love you, Balthazar.” He gently rested his hands on Balth’s hips.

  “I love you, too, Pete.” Balth’s arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulder as he pressed himself against him, “So much.” Then they were kissing again, and this time there was nothing chaste about it.

(***)

The obnoxiously upbeat piano tune that served as Balth’s alarm pulled Peter from the amazing dream he had been having. He groaned as he felt the warm body that had been curled up against his side like an oversized cat slide away from him. Then a smile spread over his face as he remembered why Balth had been so close when they normally kept an arm’s length away when sharing a bed.

  “Hmm, happy birthday,” Peter opened his eyes to find Balth sitting up in the bed, phone in his lap, hair a mess and a sleepy smile on his face.

  “Thanks,” he hummed back, rubbing at his eyes. “You can go back to sleep though, I’m just going to get started on the pancakes.” They had had the foresight to finish up the batter before retreating to Balth’s room to make out in the comforts of a bed.

  “Nah, give me five minutes,” Peter reached a hand out for Balth, who shook his head, but obediently crawled over to get settled next to Peter, head on his chest.

  “Okay, but once they’re up I have to get started. I have guests arriving in three hours. I need to get ready.”

  “Deal,” Peter twisted to press a kiss against Balth’s hair, “You know, I actually have this plan of making this the best birthday you’ve ever had.”

“Yeah?” Balth turned to look up at Peter, “you know that’s not even going to be hard, right? I mean, like, I get to spend the morning with people I really care about in a totally low-key setting. – There’s gonna be smoothies! And then in the evening this guy I’ve been in love with for years and years is taking me on the perfect date.”

  “That does sound kind of great,” Peter hummed, tracing random patterns over Balth’s arms and back. “And the guy really loves you, too, and just want to make sure you know how amazing you are, and how grateful he is to have you in his life.” Balthazar shook his head, pushing up to catch Peter’s lips in a soft kiss that quickly deepened.

(*)

Peter laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling. There were no spirals or flowers, he noticed absently, nothing to distract from the whiteness reflected back at him through the darkness of the room. He wondered if Balth ever had trouble sleeping because of it. He could have done with some spirals and flowers that night. Balthazar was sleeping peacefully next to him, curled up in the way he did, one hand reaching over to fold around Peter’s arm. There were no other sounds to be heard in the flat, but their breathing. It was entirely calm, Peter’s body heavy with tiredness in the melting into the sheets and the pillow kind of way, but still sleep didn’t come.

Balth’s perfect birthday had turned into one of the best days of Peter’s life as well, and dwelling on all the good things that had happened that day was what kept him up. Like laughing at Chris’s face as she took a sip of the carrot-and-lime smoothie Thomas had made for her. Or the in depth conversation about equal rights he had had with Rosa Jones. Or dancing almost directly in front of the stage, singing along to music he had never heard before, getting at least half of it wrong and not caring at all. Like walking home in the middle of the night, his boyfriend’s fingers intertwined with his as Balth balanced on the boardwalk before jumping down into Peter’s space, kissing him with passion, their hands still twined together.

Like the look of awed wonder on Balth’s face when he opened Peter’s gift to find the second-hand camera and the card with the name and pass-word to the YouTube channel Peter had set up for him. Or the shy smile aimed his way as the waiter told them to enjoy the rest of their evening. Or the blazing light in Balth’s eyes as he hovered above Peter, both hands planted firmly on the sheets either side of Peter’s face, chest heaving as he groaned out ‘I love you’.

Peter reached over to stroke his fingertips over the knuckles of the hand folded around his lower arm, making the hand tighten its hold on him. Peter smiled softly at the white ceiling, promising himself he would put up some posters of the universe or something. He turned his head to the side to where his boyfriend’s head was inclined slightly down towards his own chest, his one arm doubling as a pillow. Smiling through a yawn, Peter closed his eyes, fingers still painting patterns against Balth’s still hand. Maybe sleep had found him after all.

(***)

“Hey,” Peter looked up in time to catch his mother’s head popping around the edge of the door. “Can I come in?” Peter nodded, fidgeting on the bed he was sitting on. He had been back at home little over a week, and most of that time Balth had been right there with him. They had decided, though, to spend Christmas with their respective families, so Peter found himself without a boyfriend to hide behind. He hadn’t told his mother about the depression, for lots of reasons, but that also meant he had hardly spoken to her at all for the past few months. He kind of missed it. He used to be really close with his mother, before everything went to hell.

Anne Donaldson, a petit but sturdy woman with golden hair and soft brown eyes, made her way across the cluttered room of her son’s to sit on the bed next to him, somewhat gingerly.

  “That’s the one Balthazar got you, isn’t it?” she asked after a short awkward silence, pointing to the book in Peter’s lap. Peter closed the book over a finger, gazing down at the cover.

  “Yeah,” he nodded. Making the transition to boyfriends had been relatively easy, simply a case of fitting a layer of physicality and the intimacy that this brought, to the already deep friendship they had had. It hadn’t been all smooth sailing, by any means, but most of the tensions erupting between them had been solve through acceptance rather than conflict. Like accepting that both of them got a better nights’ sleep when they kept an arm’s length of distance. – Cuddling when awake was A-Okay, but when sleeping it just got suffocating. And that was okay. Accepting, also, that dark days happened even with a boyfriend there to help you through them. Accepting that sometimes closing the door on the world was a relief, even if that included closing it on your boyfriend. It didn’t mean you didn’t still love him to the heavens and back.

  “I’m glad you have him.” Anne muttered, a sort of sad smile gracing her face.

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t always get stuff right,” Anne said after another silence, and Peter turned to find her watching him with eyes aged with sadness. “I really hoped I could get Christmas right, at least. You used to love Christmas. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

  “Mom, you didn’t get Christmas wrong.” Peter protested, reaching over to grab her hand, squeezing it in his own, larger one. When had his hand outgrown that of his mother? He still remembered when holding that hand in his made all the troubles of the world disappear. “I have a depression, okay, it’s got nothing to do with you. Black days just happen.” He sighed out.

  “Two sons with depressions. I think it must have at least a little to do with me.” Peter found his mother’s eyes again, shaking his head softly.

  “Mom,” he sighed, not knowing what else to say. She looked tired and small next to him. He reached over to fold his arms around her in a strong hug. “I sucks. I know it sucks. But blaming each other or ourselves is not going to help anyone, okay. You are our brilliant little mum, and maybe you did get some things wrong, but you got so many things right. We love you. And we’re getting better, both of us. So can we just let the past stay in the past?” He pulled back to find tears on his mother’s cheeks. Seeing your mother cry was one the most heart-breaking things ever. Peter gently reached over to swipe a few of the tears away. “I’m sorry, too.” Anne sniffled and shook her head, an air of self-deprecation over her.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, darling.” She said, folding a small hand over his cheek. “I love you, and I am so proud of you for daring to go out into the great world and be who you are.” Peter managed to send her doubtful look, shaking his head against her hand. The soft smile Peter loved slid over his mother’s face as she nodded. “Yes, Darling, I am. I am so proud of the man you have turned into, depression and all. You are going to be just great. I do have one complaint, though,” she smirked, catching Peter’s eyes, “when you’re out there being great with you boyfriend, call you old mother once in a while, will you. I miss you, and I worry. A phone call goes a long way, you know?” Peter huffed out a laugh.

  “Yeah, okay. I think I can manage that. I miss you, too, you know.” He sniffed, leaning in for another hug. “Maybe we could even start now? Like, make a cup of cocoa and catch up like we used to do when I got home from school? I feel like you’ve missed a whole year.” The smile his mother send him was a little like the sun drifting through the clouds on a winter day. Warm, soft and all around you.

  “You going to help me measure out the milk?” she asked as she got to her feet holding out her hand for him to take as they made their way out the bedroom.

  “Sure,” Peter smiled, following his mother out the door. “And I’ll even try really hard not to spill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was the last chapter. I really hope you enjoyed the story. Feel free to let me know what you thought. - as of a half hour ago I am now an introduction and a conclusion away from a first draft of my thesis. Once that's handed in by the end of the month I have no idea what I'll be doing since getting a job as a newly graduate in Social sciences is not the easiest feat in the world. So please, do come talk to me on tumblr [over here](ing-on-the-wind.tumblr.com). I'd be happy to hear from you. Anyway. Thanks for reading.


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